<<"Yes..." Napoleon glanced at the lighted window where Illya's
apartment was. "I want you to check out a license plate number for me.">>

"That will not be necessary", whispered a voice in his ear. The thick
accent was definitely Russian.

Napoleon froze. //Sloppy, Solo! Very sloppy!// chided his training
voice. "Well done", he acknowledged without turning. "What can I do for
you?"

"Call Illya Nickovetch", the voice commanded.

Napoleon shook his head. "Why? You just left him?"

The other man grinned. "True. Did not know at the time you were here.
Besides, bomb can make big mess, yes?"

"Yes....", Napoleon whispered and obeyed. "Mitzi, patch me through to
Kuryakin", he said into the device. //Hope you're listening, Tovarisch.
It's show time!//

UNCLEUNCLEUNCLEUNCLE

At that precise moment Illya's communicator emitted a single bleep.
Instantly alert, he twisted the cap once. It was an obscure emergency
single that allowed one party to listen in on a conversation undetected.
He was just in time to hear a feminine voice say. "I'm sorry, Mr. Solo.
I can't seem to raise Mr. Kuryakin. Shall I keep trying?"

"Yes", Solo confirmed; then turned to his companion. "While we're
waiting, I have a few questions?"

The other man shrugged. "Ask. Remember bomb attached to doorknob."

Illya cringed at the hated voice. "Damn!", Illya swore. For the moment
bomb would have to wait, this was more important.

He settled down to listen.

UNCLEUNCLEUNCLEUNCLE

Napoleon's lips curled in what could only be described as a snarl. "Who
are you.....?"

"You..."

"What is your TRUE name and what's your business with Illya?"

The other man smirked. "So. Now is 'Illya', yes? Excellent! He has not
lost his touch."

Napoleon sighed, his patience was growing thin. "I asked.....!"

"Is not important now who I am, nor my business with Illya Nickovetch.
What is important is his, how do you say...?" He paused, trying to form
the word in his mind. "Ah, 'performance' is the word", he continued.

Napoleon fought to control his temper. "If you've got something to
say....!", he hissed.

This time the other man laughed. The sinister sound of it sent a chill
to Napoleon's soul. "Not 'say', Napoleon, but 'show'." Reaching inside
his coat he withdrew a large envelope. "Take and open it."

Napoleon obeyed, knowing Illya had not yet disarmed the bomb. The first
photo that greeted his eyes was in black and white: the room was painted
in solid black. In the middle of the room sat a huge, four-posted bed
done entirely in white satin. Illya was sprawled, totally rude, in the
middle of that bed. Napoleon felt a familiar tingle in his groin. The
man was magnificent!

"And this is supposed to impress me?", he asked his companion..

The other man leered at the UNCLE agent. "I have watched you watching
him. Also, I, personally, can testify that he is experienced", he breathed.

Napoleon laughed and handed the envelope back to his companion. "I'm
afraid you're going to have to do better than this", he chided.

The other man was outraged. "Ah! Blind Americans!! Always needing
explanation....!!"

Napoleon shook his head, a sly grin had replaced the laugh . "Are you
stupid enough to think that Waverly would've had found out all he could,
personally and professionally, about a Soviet - especially one he is
hiring into UNCLE?" He watched with immense satisfaction at the mixture
of confusion and anger in the grey eyes. "The set we have are of better
quality by the way", he added driving the barb home.

---

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